


One Who Holds My Heart

by HeartlessMemo



Series: One Who Holds My Heart [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Crushes, Druids, F/M, Fluff, Math is hard, Reader-Insert, comforting small animals is hot, dumb dumbs in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: This is based on a request from Tumblr. Reader is a druid with sketchy understanding/control of her powers. She's feeling lost and homesick as a new student at Wiggenstaff's until she witnesses an adorable encounter between a baby pegasus and a certain lumbering, adorable Firbolg. She develops a hopeless crush. May be multiple parts??
Relationships: firbolg/reader, firbolg/you, master firbolg/reader, master firbolg/you
Series: One Who Holds My Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765912
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	One Who Holds My Heart

“Oh my. Sir Firbolg, I had no idea. It‘s an honor to meet you.”

You hear the centaur’s words from your hiding spot in the barn’s loft. You’re nestled in a pile of loose, clean hay, wiping tears from your eyes and just enjoying the solitude. 

It’s been...a lot. Leaving home for the first time. Coming to this school bustling with students more talented and intimidating than you. Living with two strangers--who seem nice enough, but also seem to just *fit in* here without even trying. You’re tired and overwhelmed and homesick and you just need a minute to yourself when you come across the barn and see the ladder leading up to the empty loft.

The conversation below continues and you creep forward to the open edge of the loft and peer down surreptitiously. It really is a Firbolg! You’ve never seen one in person before but your father has told you stories of the reclusive giant-kin. They’re stronger than bears and bigger too. They don’t like to mix with other races, but it’s said that their knowledge of nature and it’s magic surpasses even the most learned druids. To hear these words from your father is an indication of their veracity. For your father is a powerful druid who is very prideful of his wisdom and skills. Too proud perhaps, you think with a tiny sigh. You know he’s disappointed that you haven’t learned to grow and manage your powers as he did. 

Below, you watch as Hernandez shows the Firbolg a tiny baby pegasus in one of the stalls. 

“...I fear she’s been orphaned,” the Centaur explains, “...do you have any insight?”

You watch with rapt wonder as a shimmer of magic halos around the Firbolg’s impressive mane of hair. And then he sits down beside the pegasus, takes the tiny creature into his arms and speaks in words you can’t understand, but they’re soothing all the same. The language is strange and beautiful and the pegasus seems to respond to his words! Your father’s tales are true. This man can effortlessly talk to animals!

A smile tugs at your lips as you watch him stroke his massive hands along the tiny animal’s spine. The Firbolg is huge, easily 8 feet tall and almost as wide as the horse stall where he sits. And yet he cradles the pegasus with such tenderness and care. There are flowers and bits of undergrowth stuck in his tangled hair, he wears a cowl and tunic that seem to be stitched together from forest materials. The overall effect is something of a cross between a bear and a tree spirit and yet you find that you’re pleased with his powerful frame and the line of his bearded jaw. His full lips part to reveal an endearing smile and you feel your heart skip a beat. He sets the pegasus down and you see that his words have worked their magic. While the creature still seems forlorn, he is picking at the hay and lapping from a bucket of water. 

As he moves out of the stall and turns to leave he raises his head and his eyes find yours. You suck in a panicked breath before ducking into the hay once more. 

You hear him lumber out of the barn and call behind him, “Mhmmm...goodbye handsome centaur man. Farewell...girl in loft.”

***

The first day passes and things get easier. Orientation helps. You have a long, quiet conversation with your room’s Gary while your roommates are out after dinner and he is surprisingly comforting for a sentient gargoyle. But as classes begin you feel that ball of anxiety in your belly growing once more. You are dreading Accounting class. 

The plan was never to be a sidekick or hench person. Your father wished for you to follow in his steps--to walk the path of a skin changer, learning how to change yourself into the forms of every animal in the forest and how to channel elemental magics to protect your home and your people. He was thrilled when your powers first manifested in adolescence. But as the years went by and you never developed abilities beyond accidentally freezing your bedroom in winter and killing all the potato plants at Summer’s end...plans changed. He thought coming to Wiggenstaff might provide you with an education that could help you develop and manage your meager powers and learn a valuable trade. Once you proved to be such a magical weakling...he was no longer interested in training you himself.

And accounting...accounting is not something your Druid father ever taught you. The walk to the classroom feels like a doomed march, but then you step inside and see the Firbolg man from the barn sitting in the last row and absolutely dwarfing the student desk in front of him. You can’t help beaming as you walk along the row of desks and take a seat next to him. He turns to greet you and you see his eyes light with recognition. You’re so glad you’d dug out your book of forest lore the night before and scoured it for references to Firbolgs. You’d learned that they do not choose to take names--which could make conversation rather tricky, you think. Well, you decide to be brave and plunge forward.

“Hi,” you say brightly and continue less certainly, “...One Who Comforts Pegasi. I’m Y/N.”

The Firbolg’s eyes gleam with pleasure at your choice of greeting and he rumbles out your name in his impossibly deep voice. It sounds like the voice of a mountain. The seats aren’t particularly close, but his massive frame extends out so far that you’re actually sitting only a few inches away. You can feel his body heat and smell his surprisingly fresh scent. He smells like the forest on a cold autumn day. You’re suddenly aware that you’re sitting here musing about his scent as the class starts and you berate yourself. You cannot be this smitten with someone you’ve only just met. And a Firbolg...they don’t usually come into society like this or interact with outsiders at all, you are sure he could never return your interest. 

The class is an utter fiasco. You can’t help but smile sympathetically as the Firbolg struggles violently with the concept of economics. It’s all rather vague and incomprehensible to you as well--you’re just less vocal about it.

As the class lets out the Firbolg groans as if he’s in physical pain.

“Hey,” you say and shyly place a hand on his giant forearm. It’s as big as your calf! “You’ll get there. This stuff isn’t easy for me either.”

“Mhmmm…” he grunts in response. “Is…..nonsense.”

You laugh. Your hand is still resting on his forearm and you rub it comfortingly, “We can help each other study, how about that?”

The Firbolg looks down at your delicate hand resting on his tough, bluish skin. The contrast is startling but somehow pleasing to him. He slowly grins and his eyes flick up to yours. That smile again. 

Oomf...you are definitely in trouble.


End file.
